New Pornographers

Is it bad to say that when I go to show’s I’m not always there for the music? That sometimes, maybe most times, my attention is diverted?


I look away from the stage, where the band looks like they are made of play dough; their beings tinted the shade of whatever light has been shone upon them. My gaze falls to the crowd, the backs of their heads. A sea of hairstyles and shoulders bobbing to the rhythm. The LCD screens of cameras that all rise and fall at the same momentous moments like a school of luminescence in the north pacific.


The band innervates the crowd like an artery, like a nerve. Our movements merely a reaction, a reflex, entirely dependant on the surge of blood and electricity they supply.


I like the part when I see two hands side by side, fighting the magnetism of love pulling them together. I like the number one fan. First in line, new t-shirt already on. I like that instant where all of a sudden the space between us all melts into a puddle on the floor and we become one. A single organism, every member if the audience writhes as a whole. The music is ubiquitous, the motion unanimous, the feeling omnipresent. When the energy swells with the chorus, making the air thick and palpable.


I think that will suffice to defend my admission that I’m not always at the show for the music..